The last normal sound in my life was the click of a train ticket machine.
It jammed.
I remember staring at the blinking red error message, annoyed, already late for my part‑time shift, thinking—of course. Of course today would start like this. Around me, the station breathed its usual rhythm: footsteps, muffled conversations, a baby crying somewhere behind a pillar, the distant roar of a train arriving.
Then the rhythm stopped.
Not slowly. Not dramatically.
It cut.
As if someone had muted the world.
Every sound vanished at once.
People froze mid‑step. The baby's mouth was open, but no sound came out. The arriving train halted on the tracks, sparks frozen in the air like stars nailed to glass.
My heart kept beating.
I could hear that.
And then the sky cracked.
I don't mean lightning. I mean the sky itself split open like a broken screen, lines of white fracturing across blue, spreading until reality looked like shattered glass held together by stubborn habit.
A voice followed.
Not loud. Not soft.
Everywhere.
WELCOME, CONTESTANTS.
The words didn't echo. They didn't vibrate. They simply appeared inside my skull, perfectly clear, perfectly calm.
YOUR WORLD IS NO LONGER STABLE.SURVIVAL IS NOW CONDITIONAL.CHOICES WILL DETERMINE CONTINUATION.
Around me, people finally moved again—screaming this time. The baby cried. The train screeched backward as gravity remembered it existed.
Above us, words burned into the broken sky.
BROKEN
Below it, smaller text unfolded like a contract no one had agreed to read.
A GLOBAL SURVIVAL SIMULATIONPARTICIPATION: MANDATORYEXIT: NONE
My phone buzzed violently in my hand.
I hadn't even realized I was holding it.
The screen turned black.
Then white.
Then a single question appeared.
DO YOU ACCEPT?
Below it were two options.
YESNO
I laughed.
I actually laughed.
People were running, falling, praying, filming the sky like it was content, and there I was, staring at a phone asking me if I accepted the end of the world.
"Like I have a choice," I muttered.
The moment the thought crossed my mind, the phone vibrated again.
NOTICE:REFUSAL IS A CHOICE.ALL CHOICES HAVE CONSEQUENCES.
My fingers felt cold.
I looked around. The station doors had sealed themselves shut with thick slabs of dark metal that hadn't been there before. Emergency lights flickered on, bathing everything in red. Above one exit, a digital sign glitched wildly before stabilizing.
ZONE 14 — LOCKDOWN INITIATED
A man slammed his fists against the metal doors, shouting for help. A security guard tried calling someone on his radio, only to stare at it when it dissolved into gray dust in his hand.
Another voice—the voice—returned.
FIRST STAGE WILL BEGIN IN 180 SECONDS.PLEASE CONFIRM PARTICIPATION.
The countdown appeared on every screen, every wall, even floating in the air like a cruel halo.
02:59
My name appeared on my phone.
PLAYER ID: KAI MORI
Under it:
STATUS: UNCONFIRMED
I swallowed.
This wasn't a dream. Dreams don't smell like oil and sweat and fear. Dreams don't make your legs shake.
"Hey!" someone grabbed my arm.
A girl, maybe my age, eyes wide, hair tied back messily. "Your phone—does it have the question too?"
I nodded.
She let out a sharp breath. "Mine says if I don't choose, it'll choose for me."
That didn't sound good.
"Two minutes," she whispered, glancing at the timer. "What happens after?"
Before I could answer, the floor trembled.
A line appeared across the tiles, glowing faintly blue. It stretched from one wall to the other, cutting the station cleanly in half.
A second line followed.
Then a third.
They formed a grid.
The air above each square shimmered, and within some of them, shapes began to materialize.
Metal.
Claws.
Too many legs.
FIRST STAGE:THE FILTER.OBJECTIVE: REDUCE PLAYER COUNT. RULE: ONLY CONFIRMED PLAYERS MAY SURVIVE.**
Someone screamed as one of the creatures finished forming—an insect‑like thing the size of a dog, its body made of jointed steel and glassy black eyes that reflected panic like mirrors.
The girl tightened her grip on my arm. "Confirm," she said. "Now."
The timer hit 00:30.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
YES.
NO.
If this was a game, then accepting meant playing.
Refusing meant… what? Death? Disappearance? Becoming part of the scenery like the frozen train had been moments ago?
I looked at the creatures.
I looked at the sealed doors.
I looked at the people—some already pressing YES, others frozen in denial, some throwing their phones away as if that would help.
The voice spoke one last time before the countdown ended.
CHOICE DEFINES EXISTENCE.
00:01
I pressed—
—and the world shattered.
Light swallowed everything.
When it faded, the station was gone.
So was the sky.
I stood in a vast concrete arena, walls rising endlessly upward, stained with rust and old blood. Hundreds of us were scattered across the floor, phones glowing in our hands.
My screen updated.
STATUS: ACTIVEHP: 100SKILL: NONE
At the top of the arena, massive gates began to open.
Something roared.
And I understood the truth.
This wasn't about winning.
It was about lasting.
Because the world wasn't broken.
We were.